You know how people talk about that moment of clarity, the instant they figure out who they are? For me, it wasn’t like that. Mine was messy, confusing, and honestly, pretty embarrassing. But it’s my story, so here it is.

It happened two years ago, the summer after college. A bunch of us—friends, acquaintances, random tagalongs—were at this party. One of those chaotic nights where the music shakes the walls, the drinks blur everything, and common sense doesn’t exist past midnight. She was there, of course. My best friend (f22). My constant since freshman year.

She’s… everything. The kind of person who makes you feel like the most interesting person in the room just by looking at you. Kind, funny, effortlessly beautiful. And yes, I’m painfully aware of how cliché this sounds. I’ve spent years cramming my feelings for her into a box labeled “Best Friend Only” and pretending that was fine.

Until that night.

We were drunk—like, really drunk—and sitting outside on the porch while everyone else was packed inside. She was laughing at something dumb, and I couldn’t stop staring. She caught me, of course, and said, “You’re staring. What’s up?”

Before I could stop myself, I said, “I think you’re beautiful.”

She laughed at first, like I was kidding, but when she saw I wasn’t, something shifted. She leaned closer, and my heart started pounding so hard I thought it might explode.

Then she kissed me.

It wasn’t some casual, tipsy peck either. It was intense, like something she’d been holding back. I didn’t even think—I just kissed her back. For one perfect moment, it was everything I’d ever wanted.

Then she pulled away, wide-eyed, and said, “Oh my god, we’re so drunk,” like she’d just realized who she was kissing. She laughed nervously and said, “Let’s just forget this happened, okay?” And just like that, the moment was over.

The next morning, she acted like nothing had happened. Like it hadn’t even crossed her mind. And me? I panicked. I played along. I shoved that kiss into a new box labeled “Never Think About This Again”—but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

That night was the first time I realized I wasn’t straight. I’ve kissed other girls since, dated a few, and yeah, I’m bi. That part’s clear to me now. What isn’t clear is her.

Because I’m still in love with her.

And she has no idea. Or maybe she does, and she’s just as good at pretending as I am. I’ve spent two years stuck in this loop, replaying every moment, every glance, every word. What if she kissed me that night because she wanted to, not just because she was drunk? What if she’s felt something all this time, too?

But then, what if I tell her and it ruins everything?

So this is where I need advice. Do I tell her? Do I take the risk and lay it all out there? Or do I keep pretending, keep things safe and steady, even if it means staying stuck in this limbo?

Because I’m not sure how much longer I can live with this secret. What would you do?